Meet the Grangers
by Mrs-N-Uzumaki
Summary: All he had to do was keep his pretentious opinions to himself. Two days, that was it.


Wazzup, everyone.

**_Meet the Grangers_** will be a five part story that will base on developing a friendlier dynamic between Hermione and Draco, as well as tackling the prejudices that are faced in the wizarding world.

Hermione's father in this story is based on the original actor who portrayed him in Chamber of Secrets, Tom Knight.

Hermione's mother will be Catelyn Stark (actress that was in Deathly Hallows).

Rated T for mild profanity.

Disclaimer: Nope. Go away.

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**MEET THE GRANGERS**

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_Part one: The holiday_

If someone had told her she was going to spend the first weekend of the Christmas holidays of her sixth year waiting for a faux date to convince her family she was socialising outside just Ron and Harry, she would've hexed them all the way to the hospital wing. In laymen's terms, Hermione Granger had struck a deal with the devil, or more precisely, blackmailed him.

This was all Harry and Ron's fault, anyway. If one of them would've just made themselves available for one stinking weekend she wouldn't have been in this mess. But no, the Weasleys invited Harry and decided to spend the entire holidays together. She was invited, of course, but she had her own family obligations to tend to; although, if it were up to her she'd rather just take Molly up for her offer.

A few months ago, Hermione made have accidently let it slip that she was seeing someone (when she obviously wasn't and even if she did it would certainly never have been that spoiled, little elitist). But her mother and relatives were practically grilling her and then later on teasing her on the fact that she didn't ever have a life outside books. Hermione couldn't exactly talk about her magical adventures with her relatives (because as far as they were concerned she was attending a prestigious boarding school in France), or her parents (because they'd pull her out the second she would tell them about her near-death experiences). So she made up a story about seeing someone, and when they asked about it she'd wave them off with an "oh, it's nothing serious". Hermione then had to learn the hard way that that excuse was eventually going to fizzle out of its balloon flat and they expected to meet this guy whom she had a "nothing serious" relationship with for about three months now.

Time was her enemy as Christmas holidays were rapidly approaching and she still couldn't find someone to fill in the position. Harry and Ron already made plans; Neville and his grandmother were going to a wedding in Germany; Dean was already seeing Ginny; even Seamus was reluctantly dragged into plans by his parents to welcome his cousin, Fergus, for Christmas. No one in her year was left. They were all going home for the holidays. They all advised her to just "tell them the truth", but she couldn't. It had been three months and she was way in too deep with this lie.

Cue in the bane of her existence. Obviously this was hardly a choice in her list at all, but in an unintended turn of events she had somehow manipulated the most notorious Slytherin in her year into doing her a favour. She'd be lying if she said a part of her didn't feel satisfied stringing the little pillock's actions with her fingers. Another part, a small very optimistic part, hoped he might learn something from the experience.

_Ding dong_

Oh God, he was here. All he had to do was keep his pretentious opinions to himself. Two days, that was it.

xXx

Hugo and Jean Granger were in the middle of a semi-heated discussion when the doorbell rang. Mr Granger was animatedly waving his hands in sync with his words that were filled with overprotective concern about his daughter, and his wife waving them away and questioning whether he even trusted her. "It's not Hermione that I don't trust!" he always responded. He was perfectly okay with where Hermione currently stood socially. He was absolutely fine with her spending most of her time in the library, but his wife on the other hand, preferred a balance, here we go again (cue in the rolling eyes).

When he and Jean first met at Uni – first year, before she dropped creative writing for dentistry - she was writing an essay on what made a person happy. Her essay was split into three parts: profession, academics and personal life, in which the goal was to equally balance them all. The personal life had subsections of friends, family and a love interest. In this case, her daughter was already excelling in academics, and boarding school made it impossible to look for work experience at the moment; she had friends, in fact Mr Granger met her two friends and their families and he was convinced they were two very good, responsible lads and he had no problem at all if she invited them over; but Hermione had always failed to mention anyone she was particularly interested in.

Until now.

They'd been exchanging letters and every year her mother tried to get Hermione to admit anyone she particularly liked. Three months ago, Jean's persistence had finally pulled through.

This boy, someone whom his daughter never mentioned in previous conversations, as if appearing out of thin air (although nowadays he wouldn't put that notion past him) was seeing his daughter. Who was he? He didn't know. Where did he come from? He didn't know. Did he have a family? He. Didn't. Know. And every time he asked his daughter she would always tell him the same thing – not to worry and that it was, what was that term she used, nothing "exclusive" was it? Sure, that made him feel tremendously better.

Jean stopped mixing the salad she spent time making while semi-arguing with her husband and turned to stare at him. "Be nice," she warned.

xXx

Draco Malfoy, both hands occupied with gifts, rolled his shoulders and pivoted his head from side to side, anything to prepare him for, what he was anticipating to be, the most excruciatingly unpleasant experience of his life. While waiting, his eyes glowered over the quiet neighbourhood. It was clean, he'd give it that; and the houses were rather large, not traditionally lavish like his, but not piss-poor like that raggedy shelter Weasleys lived in either. Draco vaguely remembered the conversation he had with Granger before making the arrangement, and she briefly mentioned what her parents did for a living. Dentistry, a profession that helped wizards only just get by with barely a few galleons for a month's rent at a shabby hotel, seemed to pay exceptionally well in the muggle world.

He couldn't believe he let that little mudblood swot blackmail him into this. When this was over, she was going to get what was coming to her.

The door swung open. Let the façade fall into place.

"Mr and Mrs Granger," he began in the most pleasant tone he could muster, although that urge to gag will always be constant. "I've been told you were expecting me."

"Uh, yes," the father replied. "You must be...Draco, was it?" He could tell the father wanted to shake on the introduction and was glad his own hands were currently preoccupied.

The silver-eyed boy smiled. "That's right, Draco Malfoy. This is for the lovely Mrs Granger," he handed her the exquisite flowers, muggles or not Malfoys weren't anything but classy and sophisticated when it came down to making first impressions.

"Oh these are beautiful, Draco. Thank you," the mother said, smiling kindly at him. At that particular moment he saw a reflection of Granger's smile, the other one. These people were definitely her parents.

He then turned to the father. "And I hear you like fine wine. Something you and my own father both have in common," Draco almost sneered. He handed the last gift.

Hugo's eyes almost bulged out. "Good heavens, this is an original 1787 Chateau Lafite! How on earth did you get this?"

"My family's quite resourceful," Draco said with a boasting smile.

Mr Granger turned to his wife to share his wonderment and his wife smiled sheepishly, "Dear, would you like to invite the young boy in?"

"Oh, right, of course, come on in."

The senior Grangers treaded further into the house, making room for Draco to walk in and close the door behind him. He turned back in time to see Granger trotting down the stairs. She reached the final step when they both remained still, blinking unsurely at each other. Her parents have already made their way to the dining area and they only had a moment to resolve on the type of ambience they were going to emit between them. They took the moment to examine seeing each other's appearances outside of school.

Hermione rarely saw Malfoy outside his uniform, with the exception of a few Hogsmeade trips where he mostly wore costly khakis and nicely pressed shirts. This was no exception to the latter. He was wearing black, ironed trousers; black meticulously shined (probably the work of some poor house-elf) shoes; a light-blue oxford shirt neatly tucked under the designer belt with a few buttons undone, pale skin from his Adam's apple to his collarbone exposed; and a grey sleeveless jumper over the shirt that matched the colour of his eyes…not that she ever stared. His hair was combed neatly as well – though Hermione preferred that handsomely scruffy look (not that he was there to impress her, he was there to impress her parents). So all in all, he ticked all the right boxes on paper; he was the epitome of a perfect boyfriend...well in this case, a fake boyfriend.

She noticed Malfoy's eyebrow rise at her own appearance, and because he was such hard individual to read, she wasn't sure if this was a bad or a good thing. Her hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail and she was wearing light-blue jeans that comfortably hugged and followed the shape of her healthily thin legs; white socks that kept her feet warm in this winter's weather; and a rather embarrassing red jumper with Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer childishly smiling on the front, and even more embarrassing the nose twinkled merrily. _Thanks, Nan, another thing Malfoy can tease me about_, Hermione inwardly cursed her parents for making her wear it.

It wasn't as if Draco was making horrible comments about her appearance so that worked in her favour, either that or he was trying to avoid getting kicked out by her parents. Probably wouldn't bode well for a Malfoy's integrity to be kicked out by _muggles_, she assumed.

"Malfoy," she nodded.

"Granger," he acknowledged.

She smiled tightly and invitingly directed her hand out for him to walk further into the house.

"Well, the place isn't leaching with grime," he said to fill the silence on the way to the dining area.

She didn't like what he was insinuating, actually she never liked anything that ever came out of his conceited, ill-mannered mouth, but this was as close to a civil Malfoy as she was going to get and she wasn't going jeopardise it. Dare she say it; it might even be interpreted as a compliment, if one would rearrange a few words. Baby steps, she reassured herself.

By the time they both reached the dinner table the flowers Malfoy offered the family were already in a vase and Hermione's mother was now placing a set of plates on the table. Two were placed side by side, and the other two on the opposite ends of the table. A corner of Draco's lips spiralled downwards to form a frown. He was so busy internally moaning at how long the weekend was going to be he didn't notice Granger joining her parents in setting up the table. He contemplated helping. He _was _supposed to make a decent impression, was he not? And Malfoys weren't anything but chivalrous.

"Here, why don't you let me help you with this, Mrs Granger?" he said as he took the large bowl of salad from her grasp politely. She smiled in response.

"Why thank you, Draco. And do call me Jean," she said. Jean turned to her husband and he rolled his eyes in response; seemed like he wasn't buying it into the whole majestically polite demeanour. No boy that age could possibly be that courteous.

Hermione raised her brow in surprise at the wizard's actions and quickly snapped out of it when her mother asked her take a seat.

"Allow me," Draco said as he pulled out a chair for her. Hermione's eyes comically widened.

"Well don't just stand there, dear," her mother said bemused. "Sit down."

Hermione and Malfoy unnoticeably exchanged a round of "who could stare the hardest". Draco then begrudgingly took the seat beside her and found that he vastly underestimated the distance between them. The two could practically smell each other. Luckily for Malfoy, he recently received very expensive cologne as an early Christmas present from some distant relative from his father's side - he secretly thought, that apart from his parents, his family was rather eccentric and, let's face it, sometimes batshit crazy like that aunt perishing in Azkaban the rest of her days (something he definitely had to keep under wraps while he was here) - but at least they all had decent taste for all things designer.

"So, Draco," Mr Granger spoke, pulling him from his trail of thoughts. "Do tell us about yourself."

The young blond was so caught up with the rather mouth-watering smell of food (another thing that he will keep under wraps, wouldn't want Granger to develop a bigger head than she already had) he had to politely ask the man to repeat his question. "Oh, well, um…"

"Draco does really well in classes and earns decent grades," the youngest Granger answered for him. "In fact he isn't too far behind me."

Draco didn't know what irritated him the most - the fact that she was answering for him as if he was that bumbling fool, Weasley, or that she could never put her bragging at beating everyone in class to rest.

"Actually I-" Draco tried to speak but was interrupted by Granger once again.

"And he comes from a very…prestigious line." That was as close to polite as she was going to get to describing the Malfoys without worrying her parents or offending Draco. "He's also good at flying. He's on the quidditch team in fact-"

"Gran-"

"And he gets really good grades."

"You already mentioned that," her father reminded her. It then occurred to Hermione that she did not, in fact, know all that much about Malfoy personally.

Draco let out a humourless laugh. "Gr- I mean, Hermione," the shock of hearing her name from his mouth left her quiet. "I can assure you that I'm fully capable of speaking for myself, about myself."

Jean snorted. "I do apologise, Draco. Hermione tends to get over-zealous whenever she invites her friends over. Although in this case friend isn't exactly the intended term-"

"What _are _your intentions?" the father suddenly asked.

"Hugo!" Jean exclaimed

"Dad!" Hermione said with an equally frustrated tone to her mother's - both reprimanding him for his bold statement.

"What I _meant_," Hugo corrected, "was where is this-" he waved his hand at the younger two "-heading exactly. I ask because Hermione mentions that you two aren't really "serious"?"

Draco turned to Hermione, unsure how to respond. "Did she now? What else did she say?"

"She didn't say anything else. Just that the two of you have been hanging out, as you youngsters say these days, for three months."

Draco's eyebrows shot up and he had to frantically refrain from laughing. Oh this was too good. Not only did Hermione Granger _lie _to her parents, but she had been keeping up that lie about seeing someone for _three months_. How fucking desperate can you get?

"I would appreciate it if you care to acknowledge that I'm still in the room, Dad."

"Watch your lip," her father reproached.

Hermione's cheeks flushed. She had just been scolded by her father in front of Malfoy, and the little snob wasn't trying very hard to renounce his amusement either.

"How's the food, Draco?" Jean said, in hopes of changing the subject.

"It's very delicious, Mrs Granger," Draco complimented. "Did you cook it all?"

Jean's face reddened with pride. "Yes, I have. At least someone is showing some appreciation for all my hard work."

"Oh come on, Jean, I always give my compliments to your cooking."

"You're confusing compliments with criticism, easy mistake really."

"When do I criticise your cooking?"

"Let's see. Last week you told me my Spaghetti Bolognese had too much salt, the next day you told me my chicken soup didn't have enough spice, and yesterday you told me my rice was very bitter…_bitter_."

"Alright then, fine. Why don't I just take my _constructive_ criticism where _it'll _be appreciated?"

"Splendid idea, Darling, I'm sure Mrs Buckay would love to take you up on that offer next door," she smiled teasingly.

Hermione watched the exchange with a smile. She always missed this – the mischievous banter between her parents. By the time puberty set in, a lot of children grow out of having to share dinners with their families and instead prefer to pig out in front of a new episode of _Eastenders_, but not Hermione. She found her entertainment between her parents' playful exchange of repartees rather than a seasonal marathon of _Vicar of Dibley_ or a _Doctor_ _Who_ rerun.

"Does your mother cook, Draco?" Jean asked.

"Oh, um…not really; the house-elves usually take care of that, as well as the cleaning and looking after the rest of the Manor." He ignored Hermione's disapproving glare.

"_Manor_?" Jean raised her eyebrows with curiosity. "Where exactly do you live?"

"Ah, of course, the Malfoy Manor," Hugo said, piecing it together. "I read about it a few years back in that_ Daily Prophet_ newspaper of yours and how much the share of the land currently held. There was also an article about its Gothic architecture. I must say, it's quite similar Augustus Pugin's designs." Though Draco had no idea who the man was talking about he nodded along to the conversation. And as if reading his mind, Hugo asked, "Do you know who that is, Draco?"

"No, sir, I don't," he answered truthfully and immediately regretted it as he found himself listening to a lecture on the 1800s Cathedral and Palace of Westminster designs. Yup, these people were definitely her parents.

"What about your family, Draco?"

The young blond snapped out of his daze, remembering that he wasn't in one of Flitwick's dreadfully tedious classes but in fact conversing with muggles. He couldn't decide which was worse.

Hermione mentally cursed beside him, hoping it wouldn't have come to that topic.

"What is it your parents do?"

"Well," Draco began. "My father works for the Ministry."

"Politics, eh?" Draco nodded. "Never did like to get involved in that verbal bloodshed."

"Hugo," Jean sent him a glare.

"So that must also mean he works with Arthur Weasley. Does he work in the muggle department too?"

Hermione started choking on her water and Draco would've scoffed if it weren't for the sputtering bookworm beside him. He used the opportune moment to give her a right thwack in the back. Her severe glare at him hardly threatened the satisfied smirk that made its way onto his face.

"No," he calmly replied then. "His credentials extend more towards the…legal areas."

"What about your mother?" Jean asked.

"She sets up charity campaigns and balls for fundraisers."

"That's quite generous of her," Jean said. "Your mother sounds like a very noble woman."

Hermione thought she caught a glimpse of Draco smiling but it left so quickly she could've sworn that she had imagined it.

"Yeah, she is," Draco said softly.

The rest of the dinner, luckily, went smoothly. Hermione just hoped it would stay that way till the end of Sunday.

**TBC**

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Hope you enjoyed the first part! Review and let me know!

Mrs-N-Uzumaki xx


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